Dirty, Artistic Mind
by rycewritestrash
Summary: Clarke draws an indecent picture of her and Bellamy in a compromising position and he finds it through no fault of his own. (Series/Season 01 - Canon Divergence AU - POV Bellamy - Fluff & Smut)
1. Bellamy has ethics

**Authors Note:** _I had these stories posted here originally, before I took a mental health break from writing and deleted my old account. I kept these stories up on Ao3, but I've noticed on FFnet people seem to leave much ruder comments. I didn't really have any bad critiques, but there was a lot of people telling me I needed to write more, or seemingly dissatisfied with the endings. Comments like, "is that it?" Is not encouraging at all and quite honestly can ruin my mood for that whole day. I am getting back into writing fanfiction, because it is something I love and offers some form of community that I enjoy taking part it. That being said, I am never obligated to provide for you, and that moment that this stops being something I enjoy is the moment that I will start to question why I would continue to do it. I am leaving this note on all my old stories, because I will be updated more regularly (once to twice a week) and I'd really appreciate if I could avoid these comments in the future. I don't want to have to resort to not reading the comments at all for my own sanity. Thanks for taking the time to read my thoughts & I hope you can understand where I am coming from. xx Be kind._

* * *

Bellamy respects people's privacy. Really, he does. He just also happens to be keenly observant and sometimes notices things that people probably don't want him to know.

He's pretty sure he figured out it was Clarke's mom who got her dad floated before Finn did. Then there's also that one time he guessed her and Spacewalker fucked, which whatever. At that point everyone was still in a horny-earth-sex, fuck-em-where-you-see-em, craze, so it's understandable. Even he'll admit to doing some weird things in some pretty weird places that first week on the ground, so yeah. He doesn't care who fucked who, honestly.

That is until Raven, Spacewalker's girlfriend (now ex-girlfriend, which he's pretty sure he is not supposed to know that either), risked her life descending from the sky in a fiery death trap like a savage.

Bellamy called it.

He knew Finn was a whiny little spacedouche before all the teen drama, and he stands by that assessment, but that's beside the point.

Shit. What was the point?

Privacy, right. He respects it.

So, when he found himself in Clarke's tent (which he graciously provided her with her very own, after the whole 'If you need forgiveness' incident, because Bellamy Blake doesn't like owing anyone anything), he didn't intend to snoop through her things. He was just looking for something to write with and duh, Clarke's an artist, which he knows – not from people telling him, but again, because he's fucking observant.

He probably could've waited for her to return before tossing items around the makeshift table, like he owned the place (he built it, so he kind of does – just saying). He wanted to draw a map of the area surrounding their camp to keep track of where certain medicinal herbs tend to grow, good places to hunt, and areas they should probably avoid altogether. At the time, it felt damn important to complete this task as soon as possible.

Okay, so, he may have been hoping to surprise the princess with more of his smart thinking and leader-y qualities, if nothing else but to see that slight twitch of her lips and quirk of her brow, which usually means she's impressed with something.

He's pretty sure he just likes being good at things and her knowing it, because he is a smug dick and wants to be appraised as such.

. . .

At first he thought it was a sketch of her and Spacedouche fucking against a tree.

He didn't mean to stare as long as he did, but there were tits peeking out above the dude's shoulders, and he really couldn't fault himself for wondering how they compared to the real thing.

She is a pretty amazing artist; he was just admiring her work.

It was harmless.

Besides, if she intended to hide it, she did a pretty piss poor job. So, really, it's her own damn fault. In fact, she should be thankful he found it first and not someone else – like Murphy.

Bellamy Blake, the hero.

He probably should have noticed it sooner. The man in the drawing is much too broad to be Finn. He figured she was compensating for something.

How does one recognize their own back anyway? It's not like he sees it often.

Now when he looks, he spots the smudges on the shoulders, which turn out to be freckles, and he's pretty sure Finn doesn't have freckles.

Bellamy Blake has freckles.

So, yeah, he should've noticed it sooner.

He didn't though, so he continued to rummage through a few more of her drawings, because apparently he's a pervert with no self-control – but she's the one drawing porn, so who's the bigger pervert here, honestly?

Then he came across an accurate depiction of his face, mid-moan, and what appeared to be Clarke, in between his legs.

His fingers are threaded through her hair and her head's in the way, but it's safe to assume she is sucking his dick.

Clarke drew a picture of herself sucking his dick.

He did what any man would do. He stuffed the papers in his pocket, without thinking much of the consequences, and now he's here. Pacing back and forth in his tent with a fucking hard on he can't control, and a guilty conscious he can't jerk off to.

His life is weird.

"Hey, Bell – " is the only warning he gets prior to Octavia waltzing into his space, and just like that his boner is dead. May they meet again.

He jumps a little at the intrusion and stuffs Clarke's porn back in his pants for safe keeping.

"Princess Griffin is looking for you," she finishes.

His eye twitches a little. He's chill.

"What does she want?" he asks, flat.

"Dunno – don't care. Go ask her yourself."

Bellamy shifts. His hand is still resting in his back pocket, like he's afraid if he moves it the sketch will disappear. Or maybe he imagined the whole thing and it doesn't exist at all. He pinches his thigh accordingly, just to be sure this isn't a bizarrely vivid dream brought on by radiation poisoning.

"Are you just going to stand there?" she asks and plops herself down on his makeshift bed, making herself comfortable. She looks up at him, curious. Then her expression changes into something sour and she glares down at the fur blanket, as if she's unsure it can be trusted.

"It's been awhile," he confesses. "You're safe."

Octavia snorts, because she's a brat who's definitely going to use this information against him later, when she's working an angle and it conveniences her, obviously.

"My, oh my, how the tables have turned, big brother," she smirks.

He wants to lock her in the dropship, until she dies a ripe, old age. It requires a lot of effort to flout all sexual inclinations regarding her relationship with the grounder and he is not happy to have all his hard work thwarted.

He is perfectly content living in the land of the delusion where Octavia is still seven years old, getting her kicks off of piggyback rides instead whatever else it is she does these days.

Ew.

"You're gross and you smell," he retorts, because he's fucking mature. She frowns at that and he briefly wants to make her smile again, but then he remembers, she's a brat.

"At least I'm pretty."

"Pretty stinky." Okay, he's like, ninety-eight percent mature.

"Eat shit and die, Bella Mia."

* * *

"If you knew someone wanted to suck your dick, but they didn't know that you knew, and never hinted that they wanted you to know, would you let them know?" he asks Miller, casual.

"This is the strangest blowjob proposition I've ever received."

"What?"

* * *

Clarke is waiting by the gate when he finds her. She's wearing clothes they found in an abandoned bunker on a scouting mission a few days ago, except he's pretty sure her shorts used to be pants. He wants to scold her, because even in this weather, winter is on its way, and she ruined a perfectly good pair of slacks for no acceptable reason. He's about to question her about what became of the spare material – to assure it went to a more practical use, when his eyes drop and inadvertently trace the curve of her ass.

All thoughts flee his mind and travel straight to his cock.

Huh.

He's totally fucked.


	2. Dude, you're so cool

Bellamy articulates something between a cough and a grunt to get her attention. She really needs to turn around, before he does something stupid, like drool on himself.

He is a pervert. He accepts that this is his life.

"There you are," Clarke huffs, spinning on her heel. Bellamy gulps and she cocks her head, curious. "Are you okay?"

"Um. . ."

She can't call him out for staring at her ass. She has no proof.

He is most certainly at risk for being caught gawking at her tits though. That shirt is far too small for her to be comfortable in.

"You're not coming down with something, are you?" She groans. "Seriously? You look flushed and I need you healthy today."

Bellamy regrets making any noise. In fact, he regrets approaching her at all and existing in general.

"What for?" He manages and hopes it's to fuck her silly against a tree. Twice. With a casual dick suck in the middle.

. . .

He needs to go into hiding indefinitely.

He also needs to get laid by a brunette, with skinny legs, and a flat chest, and forget today was ever a thing.

"I came across another bunker on my last supply run with Jasper. At least, I think it's a bunker," she says, tugging a curl behind ear and worrying her lip. Her hair is wavy over her bare shoulders, and it's taunting him.

He wants to grip it and shove his –

"We couldn't get the door to budge. I thought you could help."

He wants to die.

"Bellamy?"

"Oh, uh. Yeah," he stutters. Clarke lifts a brow. Bellamy clears his throat. "It's the arms, right? You noticed." he says, winking in an attempt to redeem his cool.

Bellamy Blake is fucking cool. This is a fact.

Clarke rolls her eyes.

It's obvious he's stronger than the scrawny kid with goggles. It's an assumption anyone would make.

But Clarke made it. Which translates to, she's totally checked out his arms, so yeah, he's a little pretentious prick.

"Don't let it go to your head."

"Which one?"" Shit. Shit. _Shit._

"What?"

"Huh? Nothing," he grunts. "Let's go, Princess. I don't have all day." He marches past her, making his way outside the gate. "What are you – why are you looking at me like that?"

"You're being weird."

* * *

Someone up there is plotting against him. This is a set up.

"Can you get it open, or not?" Clarke sighs.

He's pretty sure his entire life is joke.

"I'm not God, Clarke." He grunts, jerking the handle once more for emphasis. "It's sealed shut from the inside."

"So, it's hopeless?" she sighs again.

She needs to stop doing that. It's annoying.

"Sorry to disappoint, Princess."

"It's not your fault. I obviously over-estimated your abilities." She falls back against the tree behind her and crosses her arms, which of course pushes her breasts together.

If this were normal circumstances, Bellamy would find an excuse to take off his shirt and manipulate his way into hers.

But this is Clarke, and there's something about her that makes him want to gag her with his cock, and also like give her a hug after?

"Should we head back then?" He swallows and looks anywhere else. The trees are mocking him.

"Probably," Clarke shrugs. "Do you mind if we just – don't, for a bit?" He looks down at her. "It's kind of nice. You know, not having someone calling my name every five minutes."

"Oh, sure," he says, scratching the back of his neck. He understands.

They understand each other a lot. It's almost like they're _friends_, but barely. "It's not easy being in charge, is it?"

"You would know," she says with soft smile.

They've come a long way since hating each other, he admits. He's not sure exactly where they are now, but it wasn't easy getting there.

It's a shame he's about to ruin it.

"Clarke," he chokes out. "I need to show you something."

He's not anywhere close to touching her, but swears he feels her tense up, like she's bracing for impact. Everything is always so serious with her - life and death.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"No, don't worry - everything is fine, just -" He exhales slowly, reaches into his back pocket, and shoves the papers at her, staring down at his shoes. If he looks pathetic enough, maybe she'll feel too sorry for him to be pissed. It's a solid plan.

He hears her tiny gasp, and watches her feet turn away from him before he has the balls to look up at her.

"Clarke?"

No answer.

"I can forget about it, if that's what you want," he offers, gazing at the back of her head. He's pretty sure it's a lie, but that's probably not worth mentioning. "I just – I need to know it's what you want."

"And if it's not?" she whispers.

His eyes narrow at her form, calculating.

Fuck it.

"If not, then I'm going to take off your clothes, get you on your knees, and shove my dick in your mouth."

That does it.

She twists around and locks him in her sights, like she's hoping if she glares hard enough he'll spontaneously catch on fire. Her cheeks are red and hot, and he certainly feels a spark _somewhere_.

"You're awfully sure of yourself, Blake."

His cock jumps.

She crumbles up the papers in her palm and tosses them over her shoulder.

"Hey! Don't – "

And then her lips are on his.

Bellamy talks himself up a lot, and rightfully so. He's pretty experienced when it comes to this sort of thing, but his experience is primarily with girls who aren't Clarke, which somehow makes everything feel different, and he's really not sure what any of that means. Does it have to mean anything?

He just wants a blow job. No need to over-analyze it.

He will, obviously, because that's just so _Bellamy_, but later, when his dick is soft and useless.

Their teeth clank together and she shoves her tongue in between them before he can protest. Not that he wants to, but holy shit, she's fierce.

It's a little uncomfortable, at first. He struggles trying to set the pace, eventually just giving in and letting her take the lead, following her movements like a dog chasing its tail.

Figures, she'd want to be in charge.

Bellamy doesn't mind much. She's stronger and mouthier than the girls he usually takes, but they're just a fuck and she's – something else. He hasn't quite figured it out yet.

She bites down on his lip and that's when he's had enough.

He tightens his hold on her hair and yanks her head back, exposing her neck to his mouth. She yelps and he's sure he's done for. She's about to tell him to fuck off, and probably punch him in the jaw on principle.

But when he leans down to lick and suck at the flesh under her ear, she sighs, and it's a lot less annoying this time.

She's gripping onto his shirt, he suspects to hold herself up. So, he shoves her up against the nearest tree; the one she was leaning on moments before the world imploded. She squeaks and squirms against him, when the bark digs into her back.

"You okay?" He asks, trying to assess the situation. Her pupils are blown and her hair has fallen out of that twisty thing it's always in. She blinks up at him and nods, like she's too lost in him to remember words.

That's all he needs before flipping her tank over her head and her bra in the same movement.

He's a man of many talents.

Her arms fly up to cover herself and Bellamy pauses, letting his hands rest along her sides.

"Hey," he hums, nudging her with his forehead, until she meets his eyes. His fingers busy themselves tracing constellations on her skin, until they evoke a shiver out of her.

He smirks, because he's awesome.

She huffs and rolls her eyes, leaning back up to kiss him. He lets her wrap her arms around his neck, pulling him down to meet her mouth.

She smells like rain and sweat and just everything Clarke. He drinks her in, like he's dying of thirst.

He doesn't usually enjoy making out this much. It's sort of unfamiliar territory to him.

Before it was just something he did to initiate something better. Like blow jobs.

He wants to kiss her a lot, more than he should. If breathing wasn't a thing, he'd probably just never stop.

This might be a problem.


	3. While we're here

His dick throbs in his pants, like it's scolding him for not putting it first.

He palms her ass and pulls her forward, until her nipples brush up against his chest. Capturing her mouth and holding it hostage, he swallows her moan. He pulls away to nibble her neck again, in that spot that made her sigh before.

He grinds himself into her hips, forcing her to feel the affect she has on him. She jolts in response and giggles in his ear. It's mildly infuriating how much her laugh excites and annoys him in equal measure.

He feels like she's killing him and bringing him to life at the same time, which makes no fucking sense, but Bellamy's never been good with feelings, so that's where he's at right now. He's in limbo.

Her breath is hot and erratic on his neck and he wants to feel it on his cock.

He unbuttons her shorts and yanks them down with her panties, making good on his promise about her being naked. It's too bad he ends up being the one on his knees, when he kneels down to help her lift her ankles up and out, then hesitates at the sight of her cunt.

He really wants his dick sucked, but –

He's always really enjoyed eating girls out, obviously, but that's because he wanted to.

Now he sort of feels like he _needs _to, like he can't resist and he's not sure why he would if he could.

He's pretty sure he's on fire and she's made of water and wants to dive into her before he burns alive.

What the actual fuck is happening.

Bellamy Blake is irresistible. Clarke drew him in compromising positions, because of how god damn irresistible he is, and now she's got him on the ground, practically drooling over her core.

It's degrading, honestly. He has more respect for himself than this.

Pull it together, Blake.

Whimpering, she rubs her thighs together and squeezes his shoulders. He looks up and nearly jerks off at the sight of her tits hovering above him, nipples erect.

Okay, so, while he's down there, he might as well –

She cries out when he licks into her and clenches her thighs together, which he coaxes apart, nudging his face in between. He hooks one knee over his shoulder and squeezes, allowing his other hand to creep up to palm her breast and pinch her nipple, grazing his fingernails across.

She's whiny, loud, and desperate enough for him to assume this is the first time she's been fucked with a tongue. He pauses long enough to tease her clit with a soft kiss and flick. She grinds herself on him, and lets a frustrated sigh. He laughs and launches his tongue inside her again, making her squirm, trying and failing to meet his rhythm.

He grabs her hips and guides her movements, taking pity on her.

The next sound she makes is muffled by her fist and he pinches her thigh in retaliation.

"Let me hear you," he begs into her pussy. Her hand falls away from her mouth and buries itself in his curls. She jerks his hair a little too hard for his liking and he pulls back, allowing his breath to fan over her sex in reprisal.

She's heaving, and shaking, and . . .

"So fucking beautiful," he murmurs without necessarily meaning to. Her whole body freezes.

He doesn't usually talk in these circumstances, and he realizes now it's for good reason, because well, he's a fucking sap, apparently.

Bellamy Blake does not approve.

He massages her hip with his thumb, hoping to regain control of situation. "Relax."

"I need to lie down," she says between breaths, and he's a little disappointed he won't have this view anymore, but mostly worried that this is actually too much for her.

"Do you need to stop?" he asks, rising up to eye level. She kisses him again and he's a little shocked given where his mouth had just been.

Not that it's ever been a problem before, but he sort of thought she'd be more of a prude.

To hell with it.

He pushes his tongue inside her, testing the waters and she moans into him. That's when he realizes, she's getting off on tasting herself, which is a bit more than he anticipated.

It's the best thing ever in the history of forever.

He realizes that's a bit over dramatic, but really can't find a shit to give.

Her hands sneak under his shirt and he rips it off, wondering why the fuck it was still on in the first place.

"Keep going," she insists, smiling up at him. "Please."

And somehow her saying, _please_, does it for him in more ways than he can comprehend.

He lifts her up, wrapping her legs around him. She rubs herself against his bulge and he pushes back, lying her down over his discarded shirt in the grass.

He trails kisses down pass her naval, pausing in between to tease her with his tongue and teeth. He kisses her clit again, only this time he sucks, making her jump and gasp.

"Shh, you're okay." He sighs, sneaking his hands up her thighs. He hesitates a moment to taunt her with his middle finger, sinking only the tip into her folds, before pulling out and pushing back.

"Stop playing games, Blake."

He reaches forward to rub her fluids over her clit in soft circles. "But it's fun," he deadpans. She whines and wiggles underneath him. He seeks entrance again. "Aren't you having fun, Princess?" he asks and her pussy flexes around him. He wavers, momentarily mesmerized by its enthusiasm. "You like it when I call you, Princess, Clarke?" Her cunt responds accordingly.

Logically, he knows he's on the ground, but he's also pretty sure he's flying.

"Bellamy." She sighs. "Just get on with it."

He fondles her opening before shoving himself deeper. "You're so fucking wet, Clarke," he groans, curling his finger and prodding, until she's crying out near tears. He wants her to fly too.

He speeds his movements, until she's mumbling incoherent nothings, and he can't tell if she's begging him to stop, or keep going.

"What is it?" He asks, slowing pulling her back to him.

"I can't – I don't," she hisses. "Is it supposed to feel like this?"

"What do you mean?" he hesitates, furrowing his brows. Is he hurting her?

"I don't know," she hisses, trembling beneath him, too far gone to explain. She takes a deep breath, "It's too good and too much. I can't – " A loud, throaty moan escapes her when he licks again.

"You've never had an orgasm before." The revelation excites him more than the first time he touched the earth and saw her touch it too. He's going to ignore that last part.

"What? Of course I – "

"Shut up." He grabs her wrist and places her palm over her breast. "Play with your tits and I'll take care of the rest."

Ignoring her, he licks and sucks down harder on her groin, sinking another finger into her tight cunt. Her protesting cries only encourage him further, more eager than ever to watch her lose herself in the clouds. She gasps and bucks her hips meeting his thrusts. He feels himself growing tighter in his pants and fights the urge to hump the ground.

She's weak and frustrated, dripping all over his fingers. Her howls grow louder and more desperate, to the point where he almost feels bad for finding her helplessness so erotic.

"It's not fair how fucking amazing you look like this," he growls, biting her inner thigh, only to then soothe it with his tongue. "I'm not complaining, but you need to stop fighting it, Princess," he whispers into her skin.

His name rushes out her lips over and over, until he doesn't even recognize it anymore.

He's hovering over her now, breathing in her ear. "I'm here. I've got you."

She thrashes and cries out, just barely tipping over the edge of something she can't even grasp.

"Cum."

She bucks against him once, twice, before her cry turns into something inhuman when she explodes and latches onto him. He moves back down, to taste his triumph, licking and sucking her juices, while she rides it out, fucking his face.

She's a mess, but like - the kind of mess he wants to spend the rest of his life cleaning up.

"I love you."

Oh. _Oh._

Oh no.


	4. Foot, meet mouth

His eyes dart from her face, to her chest, to the bulge in his pants.

It's all just misunderstanding, of sorts. Clearly, he's malfunctioning, because of lack of sleep, food, and sexual satisfaction. This is okay.

It's okay, because there's no way he said what he's thinks he said.

It's not in the realm of possibility.

He refuses to believe he is that much of an idiot.

_I love you._

No. Nope.

Bellamy Blake does not get crushes, and he certainly does not fall in love with spoiled, bitchy, princess know-it-alls.

And if he hypothetically did, he definitely wouldn't admit it, or blurt it out in the middle of a hook up. He's cooler than that.

_And_ it would not be Clarke, because even if she was his type in a non-hump-and-dump scenario, it would never work, because he'd just fuck it up and probably die of some infection, after she decides to stop treating his wounds in an act of revenge and leaves him to choke on his on vomit.

He's imaginative.

_I love you. _Seriously?

He loves Octavia and can probably count the number of times he's actually said those words on one hand.

He doesn't talk about his feelings. Feelings make him itchy. He thinks he may be allergic.

He snaps out of his thoughts when he hears his name, but it doesn't sound like it did before, maybe because he's no longer between her legs.

He's not entirely sure how much time has passed, but he's still on his knees, so there's that.

Bellamy opens and closes his mouth a few times, but he forgot how to use his voice.

It's not a bad thing. He should definitely not talk. At least not to her. Ever again. He's terrified of what other made-up confessions might sneak past his lips without his consent.

If someone told him yesterday he'd be expressing such feelings (which he's not confirming actually exist) to a very naked Clarke Griffin, he probably would have laughed and shot them in the leg.

"You don't love me," she says, tugging her clothes on.

Everything is happening too fast. He feels like his brain is chasing his thoughts only to have them slip from his grasp before he can make sense of it. He thinks he's broken.

"You don't love me," she says again, like he couldn't hear her the first time.

She moves to button her shorts and sighs in that annoying way again.

"I don't . . . " he says, finally, but doesn't even know how to finish, because what the fuck is the follow-up supposed to be in the situation? It sounds like he's asking her something.

He licks his lips, and her taste there awakens him enough to have the decency to stop staring at her like an idiot, because he's _such a fucking idiot._

He reaches for his shirt. There's a wet smear on it that sticks to his stomach when he tugs it on. He's cock twitches involuntarily and he cringes.

"Glad we agree," she says, shaking her hair out before twisting it back away from her face. Her legs are shaking.

And while Bellamy's pretty sure he does agree with her, the more aware he becomes of the situation, the more his stomach twists and his throat tightens. He feels annoyed and horny . . . and confused, but mostly annoyed.

"What makes you so sure?" he says without thinking, which is apparently his new thing.

"You just said so," she deadpans, narrowing her eyes in his general direction, without actually looking at him.

It's at least a half hour walk back to camp and he debates biting his tongue off to render him speechless, before he says something else stupid and life-ruining.

"I also said that I love you."

"Then you said you didn't."

"_You_ said I didn't."

"So which is it, Blake?"

" I don't – I mean maybe."

She scoffs. "Thanks for clearing that up."

He hears something crunch beneath his boots and leans down to pick up the sketch Clarke threw on the ground before throwing herself on him.

She doesn't turn around to see if he's following her. She doesn't look at him at all the entire walk home.

* * *

It's been three days after the incident when Raven parades into his tent unannounced, looking like she's ready to storm a village, drain it of its resources, and take no survivors.

"What the hell did you say to Clarke?"

"Hi Raven. Good morning, Raven. Get the fuck out of my tent, Raven."

He doesn't hear anything else, so in a moment of weakness he peeks an eye open, only to find her glaring at him inches away from his face. She looks like she's seconds away from puffing smoke out of her nose and breathing fire at him, like a dragon. He squints at her. She frightens him, honestly. But he's not going to tell her that.

"Still here, I see."

"Get your ass out of bed and fix Clarke."

Bellamy snorts. "You're the mechanic."

She kicks him, inches away from his dick.

"What the – "

She steals his furs before he can process what's happening and stomps out of tent cursing him to the Underworld and barks he can have his _blanky_ back when Clarke finds a way to surgically remove his head from his ass.

It's a less than pleasant way to wake up, to say the least.

* * *

"So," Bellamy says, eyeing Miller sideways.

He's quiet, which is not unusual by itself, but it's the kind of quiet that's careful and uncomfortable, because he's not sure how to say something. Which is just, _great._

"Clarke."

"Not you too." Bellamy groans, rubbing a hand over his face.

"So, we're not going to talk about it?"

"There's nothing to talk about," Bellamy snipes.

"Sure. Okay," Miller nods in a way that feels like he might as well be saying, _bullshit._

"If there was something, it's something that's not my fault."

"Hm."

"Or my problem."

"Right."

"Quit looking at me like that."

"Does it have anything to do with what you said a few days ago?" Miller asks, wincing, like he's in pain, or knows he will be when Bellamy punches him in the throat.

"What?"

"I mean – " He huffs. "Fuck. This is awkward. Is Clarke who you we're asking about before? Ya know?" He jerks his hand in front of his face to get his point across, a sight Bellamy could've lived without seeing, ever.

"Shut up, Miller."

"Oh my god." A sort of grin threatens to split his face open. Anyone who doesn't know Miller personally, wouldn't have noticed, because Miller's facial expressions range from serious, to slightly less serious.

"Don't," he warns.

"Holy shit. I owe Monty and Jas a drink."

Bellamy stops walking. "What?"

Miller's expression goes carefully blank and he shrugs. "Uh – nothing. I got go."

Bellamy glares at the back of his stupid beanie wearing head, feeling betrayed by literally everyone.

"Assholes."

* * *

Bellamy missed the turning point in Clarke and Octavia's relationship where they went from being friendly to actually being friends. It feels dangerous, like climbing a mountain with no rope – while drunk, and barefoot . . . he's not sure how to navigate the situation.

They're both ignoring him now and he's trying his best to be chill about it, but she's _his_ sister. She should be on his side, even if he's not entirely sure what side that is, because he's completely clueless and would really appreciate it if someone would fill him in on why Clarke is so pissed in the first place – if only so he can plan his defense accordingly.

It makes no sense. He made her come, for the first time, presumably _ever_.

A thank you would be nice.

Or at least some clarification on what the fuck her problem is.

It's a shit situation from every angle, because loving Clarke and being aware of loving Clarke are two completely different things, and he really shouldn't be faulted for either. It's not exactly something he can control.

Feelings are dicks like that.

He's had a few days to think it over and he's sure he's handling the revelation rather maturely.

He figures he's been in love with her since the bunker thing and just didn't know how to place it, because he never felt it before. Ignoring it was easier when he didn't know what _it_ was.

His mouth works faster than his brain, obviously.

Now it's all he can think about and it's swallowing him whole.

Aren't girls supposed to like it when guys talk about their feelings? Shouldn't she have been flattered, if nothing else?

He's coming to the conclusion her attraction to him is only on a physical level and she just hates the rest of him, the _Bellamy_ part.

It's so unfair. He's twenty-three years old and he feels like he's experiencing some terminal late-stage of puberty nobody talks about, because being in love is the fucking worst.

He watches Clarke and Octavia taking their dinners to Raven's tent, because it's not enough to hate him separately, they got to do it in a pack now.

He wants to apologize, but he's not even sure what he feels bad about, so fuck her.

It's killing him not knowing what the hell Clarke is saying to make him look like the bad guy. He doesn't think she told them what he said, because even when Octavia is pissed at him, she'd never turn down an opportunity to make fun of him until he cried, or wrestled her, or both.

_Fucking women._

Lincoln invites himself to sit next to Bellamy, so clearly the universe is laughing at him, because the guy he beat the shit out of is taking pity on him, or coming over to return the favor.

"Hey," Bellamy says, shifting on the log to put more space in between them.

Lincoln nods, looking around the camp, watching, studying them, kind of like when they first landed, but openly now instead of hiding in the trees.

"O is with Raven."

"I know," he says. Of course he fucking knows. "And Clarke," he adds, turning to face him.

"Are you here to kill me?"

Lincoln laughs, which is odd and not very reassuring. "No, Bellamy. I just thought maybe you'd like to talk."

Bellamy eyes him warily. "What has she told them?"

"Nothing."

He raises an eyebrow at that. "Nothing?" Okay, obviously she's told them something because they've teamed up and formed an alliance against him.

"She's – she's been crying." He pauses and then adds, "a lot."

Bellamy blinks and feels something horrible building in his chest. "Why?"

Lincoln shrugs. "She won't say. She never even said it was about you, but she didn't have too."

He's used to being the one responsible for putting in Clarke in an eternal bad mood, but trying to grasp that fact that she's been acting like a bitch, because she's sad, is so much worse than he could have predicted. His heart hurts.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"It felt like something you should know."

"Based on what?"

"If it was Octavia, I'd want to know."

* * *

Bellamy finds himself in Clarke's tent later that night, alternating between sitting on her bed, or her chair, and ultimately walking in circles around her tent, because being still is just too much.

He knows she'll be back eventually and he's trying to figure out the best way to keep her here when she sees him.

He doesn't have any bright ideas and his patience is running thin, so when she walks in and freezes in front of him, eyes wide and red, he just says it.

"I love you."

She blinks once, twice, looks positively heartbroken for a fraction of a second, before she masks it into a scowl. But he saw it and he's done not knowing what he did to put it there.

"Don't," she says, stepping back from him. He catches her in his fists before she runs away and lifts her on top of the makeshift table, crowding her there.

"Princess, hey - "

She pushes at his chest and even tries to slap him, but he grabs her wrist and pulls her into his arms. She exhausts herself, until he's no longer restraining her, and instead he's just hugging her while she cries into his chest. She's trembling, and he's rubbing slow circles on her back, burying his face in hair.

"Please, talk to me."

She sobs harder and it's fucking terrifying, because he loves her and he has no idea why her response is to cry. He's genuinely scared she actually hates him, but he has to know.

"Just - tell me what I'm doing wrong, Clarke." He pulls himself back a bit, trying to look at her face, but she's clinging to his shirt, hiding from him. "I don't understand."

Her breathing slows and he feels her melt into his embrace. He lifts her and carries her to the bed, keeping her tugged to his torso. He waits.

"You can't."

His breath catches and he holds her tighter. "I do."

"I don't believe you." That's rude.

He huffs, combing his fingers through her hair. "We're partners. I trust you and you trust me, remember? Or at least you did."

She's silent for a minute, or an hour, he's too wrapped up in her to debate the illusion of time. She nudges her nose closer and sighs. "I do."

"Then why are you fighting me on this?" She cuddles deeper, like she's trying to disappear into his body. "Help me get it."

"Finn said he loved me." Oh.

_Oh. _

He pushes back on her shoulders to see her face. Hearing her just isn't enough and he needs to know she's paying attention. "I'm not Finn, Clarke."

"You slept with Raven," she says staring at his chest.

He squints at her. "That's true." He tilts her chin up and their eyes lock. "It didn't mean anything else."

"And it will with me?" she scoffs, like it's obvious.

She tries squirming out of his arms and he holds her there. Like hell she's leaving. "Clarke," feeling the weight of her name and the emotion it carries on his tongue. She frowns at him. "Princess, if I'm with you I'm with you. I can't change who I fucked before I knew I loved you."

"Stop saying that."

"It's the truth. Stop pretending it isn't."

"Finn loved Raven and he fucked me."

"Finn likes to hear himself speak," he growls, rolling his eyes. He fucking hates spacewalker. "They're just words to him, Clarke."

She shoves his chest, "Just words."

"Not to me," he says, running his hands down her back and resting them on her hips. "I can show you."

Her mouth falls open and she just stares. He reaches a hand up to cup her cheek, dropping his thumb to trace her jaw. She blinks and whispers, "You love me?"

"Do you need me to write it down? Maybe make a banner and display it in the middle of camp?"

She chokes on a laugh and punches his chest. He holds her hand there and smirks, in a way that he hopes she finds charming.

"You love me." She smiles and his breath hitches looking into her glassy eyes. They look bluer somehow and he curses, because of course his princess would still be fucking gorgeous when she cries.

"I think you said that backwards, Clarke." He's really fucking hoping.

She grips his shoulders then and pushes him on his back. He watches as she straddles him and bites her lip. _Fuck._

"I think I owe you something first," she smiles trailing her hands down chest and pausing at his groin.

"Is this going to be a thing now? Oral first, feelings later."

"You started it."

He grins reaching up to tug her hair, "Well, go on then. Finish it."


	5. Idk love

Feeling Clarke's mouth on his cock is officially one of Bellamy Blake's favorite things _ever_. It falls somewhere in between watching her cum and playing with his guns - not at same time.

He likes Clarke with guns, but he has his limits.

He also likes kissing her - basically everything with her.

He hasn't experienced _everything_ yet, but he fucking knows.

He didn't know it could feel this good though. Blow jobs have always been awesome, but this is Clarke and he _loves her_. It's weird how different it is just because feelings are involved.

He's pretty sure she loves him too, even though she hasn't said it, yet. Not with_ words_, but the way she's working his dick and meeting his eyes while he fucks her mouth is making him feel pretty loved right now. He almost wishes he figured it out sooner, but it's better than never, and he honestly can't complain about the way things played out – he's getting his dick sucked. So, yeah. Not complaining.

"Fuck, Clarke," he gasps, tangling his hands in her hair, holding on tight. He bucks up into her mouth, making her eyes go wide when he hits the back of her throat. "Shit, sorry," he groans, loosening his grip.

She comes up for air, letting his cock fall out of her mouth with a pop. It twitches, involuntarily, nudging her lips. "Don't be," she says, breathless and flushed, still jerking him off with her hand, wiping a stray tear from her cheek with the other. Her breath teases the tip and he fights the urge to shove himself back inside her, not wanting to scare her off.

Or piss her off.

Angry Clarke is hot and all, but then there's _teeth_, so he should probably avoid it. That feels like the smart choice.

"Is this okay?" she asks, biting her lip.

_She's gorgeous_.

"What?" he says, panting, because he's not entirely sure what exactly _this _is. It feels like everything and everything is more than okay. He doesn't remember anything ever being so good.

"I just – I'm not all that experienced with, ya know," she pauses, shifting her knees between his thighs, raising a brow, like it's obvious.

"Oh," he says, blinking. It's not his fault using his brain is hard in this position and he's already proven he's not in control of what comes out of his mouth when Clarke's around.

"Oh?" she retorts, narrowing her gaze, squeezing his cock a little tighter, making his heart stutter.

He definitely needs to get control of _something._

He tugs her hair and pulls her up, kissing her, hard.

Her hand is still wrapped around his dick, but it loosens enough for him to jerk himself off with it. He growls when she tilts her head back, sinking his teeth into her bare shoulder instead.

"You're perfect."

"I wasn't finished," she whines, hissing when he sucks a mark onto her skin.

"I'll decide that," he grumbles, chasing her lips and flipping them over.

"You're bossy," she mutters, eyes widening when he pulls her arms over her head, holding her down.

He shrugs. "You get to boss me around out there and I get to boss you around in here."

"Oh, is that so, Mr. Blake?"

He narrows his eyes, as she arches her back to grind herself on his thigh in defiance. He scoots her wrists into one hand, so the other is free to trail down her side, keeping her still.

"Yes."

She tenses beneath him, catching his tone. He smirks when she clenches her thighs together, glaring at him when he shoves them apart. She squirms in his grasp and he waits - patient as ever. It doesn't take long before she huffs, defeated. Bellamy grins, because loving her doesn't mean he's done being an asshole.

It's one of his most defining qualities, after all.

"What are the rules?" she asks, petulant.

"Whatever the hell you want, Princess."

"I thought _you_ were the boss."

"I thought _we_ made the rules," he says, smug.

She twists her hands under his palm, testing his hold on her - _again_, because it worked out so well for her the first time. He raises a brow, amused.

She finally stops writhing and opts for pouting instead, fluttering her baby blues at him and he snorts.

"Finished?" he asks, low, watching as she flushes in all the right places. Bellamy knows if he reaches down and shoves her panties aside he'll find her wet and wanting, but he also doesn't want to pressure her into something she's not ready for.

He reassess the situation, loosening his grip. "I'm not going to do anything you don't want me to do, Clarke," he says, soft.

"I know."

"We make the rules." He reminds her, bumping her nose with his. "Just tell me if you want to stop and I'll listen."

She opens her mouth and closes it a few times, trying to find the words.

"Are you all right?" he asks, releasing her, holding his weight, allowing her to readjust.

She keeps her hands where he left them and he bites his tongue to stop himself from praising her. He knows what kind of shit he's into and he's not ashamed, but he doesn't want to make any assumptions about what _she's_ into, or could be into – at least not until she says whatever she wants to say. It seems important.

"You're just so much more experienced than me," she huffs, averting her gaze, like she's embarrassed. It's so fucking ridiculous; he almost chokes on a laugh.

He smiles instead, warm and fond, kissing her cheek. He has so much to show her. He's looking forward to it; she should be, too. " – and older," she adds.

"Wiser, too."

"Shut up, grandpa."

His groans and drops his head to her shoulder. "God, please don't start calling me that. The kids will never let me live it down." She laughs, bright and glowing.

It's another new thing Bellamy's adding to his list of favorite things Clarke Griffin does. He's going to make it his goal in life to make he do _that_ more – like every damn day.

"The fact that you refer to the rest of camp as kids isn't working in your favor, old man."

"Shut up, Clarke," he says, rolling his eyes. She opens her mouth and he tilts her chin up with thumb. "Stop talking," he mumbles over her lips, pecking her beauty mark.

Their eyes lock and he doesn't even realize he's waiting for something, until she gives him a slight nod and a tiny, anxious smile.

He grins and kisses her soft and wet, swallowing her gasps, when he rips the worn fabric of her Ark-issued bra. He bites her nipple when she starts protesting.

"I'll make you a new one," he says, soothing the flesh with his tongue. "Keep your arms above your head." And then he's focusing all of his attention on her tits, nibbling and sucking them into his mouth, making her whimper and cry out. He holds her hips down on the bed to prevent her from humping his leg. "Patience, Princess."

"Please, Bellamy," she whines. "_Please_." The amount of neediness coating her voice catches him off guard, leaving his dick twitching against her thigh with want. He blinks, coming to a decision.

"Roll over," he says, standing up and pulling his briefs the rest of the way off. "On your hand and knees."

He sees the hesitation in her eyes, but she recovers quickly, propping herself up for him.

"Good girl," he hums, chuckling when she wiggles her hips. He rewards her with a light smack on her ass.

She jumps, surprised – relaxing when he massages the abused cheek with his palm, slipping his fingers under her panties and tugging them down. "You okay?" he asks, helping her lift her knees to remove them completely.

She hums in response, as he glides his hand up her back, pushing her shoulders down, deeper onto the make-shift mattress. He leans down, brushing her hair to the side, leaving sloppy kisses on the back of her neck.

"Do you trust me?"

"Yes," she breathes, gripping the furs beneath her. He tests her entrance, sinking a finger into her, then another.

"Bellamy." She chokes mid-moan, when he curls his fingers, searching. "Bell?" she says again, more urgent.

He stills inside her. "Yes, Princess?"

"I've never – " she pauses, swallowing. "Finn was my first."

"I know," he says, coating his fingers with her fluids, pulling out to rub them on her clit in slow circles, reassuring. "We'll go slow, baby. I want you so wet and ready for me."

He brings her to the edge with his fingers and tongue, faster than last time - waits until her cunt is fluttering around his knuckles before removing them. He smirks when she clenches around nothing.

"Don't stop you son of a -" He pinches her ass, effectively shutting her up.

"Don't be a brat," he scolds, pushing the tip in, before she can argue, holding her hips steady. He groans at the sight of her swallowing his cock, grumbling filthy things into her skin with his teeth. He waits for to adjust to the new sensation. It's not long before she rolls back against him and he fills her completely.

"Fuck."

"That's the idea, yeah."

He looses the capability to distinguish her moans from his own sometime after her first orgasm. She cums with him whispering dirty thoughts into her hair. He tells her how beautiful she looks with his cock buried deep inside her and how much he wishes she could see for herself, describing in detail what his dick looks like sliding in and out of her pussy. He tells her he's thought about her like this for weeks, got himself off thinking about her tits, and how much better the real thing is in comparison.

He fucks her hard and slow and then fast when he jerks her up on her knees, wrapping an arm around her front to keep her there, playing with her swollen nub. He loses rhythm in the middle of her third climax and she milks him over the edge, until he can't tell who's fucking who anymore.

"Oh my god," she says, when they're both reduced to a hot sticky mess, breathless and satisfied, smiling like idiots.

They are idiots for not doing this sooner.

He turns his head, so he can look at her properly.

"Yeah?"

"That was fucking amazing."

"Yeah."

"Do you have any other words in your vocabulary?" She giggles, swatting his chest. He catches her hand, linking their fingers together.

"Yeah," he says, smug. It gets the desired reaction, when she laughs and curls up beside him.

He's so fucking happy.

"I hate you."

"I love you," he says, soft, stroking her cheek. She sobers at that and Bellamy immediately hates himself for ruining the moment. The air changes and she looks serious and he doesn't know what to expect, so he tries putting some space in between them.

"Don't leave," she says, quiet, and he freezes.

He frowns. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I – I don't think I can say it, yet," she murmurs, hiding her face behind a curtain of hair.

He tucks the loose curls behind her ear, tilting her chin up to meet his gaze. "That's okay."

"It's not okay," she sighs, nudging her cheek into his palm. "You said it and I was such a jerk to you about it and it's not even that I don't feel that way – "

"Clarke."

"I'm not – I don't know if –"

He kisses her and she promptly shuts up.

He's going to have to remember that for later, especially around camp. He doesn't care if everyone gives him shit for it. He's going to kiss her all the time. It's going to be awesome. And anyone who doesn't like it can float themselves, because Bellamy Blake gives zero fucks.

"I don't want you to tell me until you're ready."

"I want to be," she whispers onto his fingertips.

"You will be," he says kissing her hair. "But it doesn't have to be now."

"Later?" she says, a smile tugging at the corning of her mouth.

"Whenever you're ready."


End file.
